South by Southeast
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: When young men in Arkansas start losing their heads, Sam and Dean's investigation leads them to the killer's tracks... literally.
1. Chapter 1

**I still don't own them, but I'm in negotiations disguised as a lawyer for the studios, so keep your fingers crossed. g **

**Again, procrastinating finishing this. Seems to be a pattern. I'm relying on my new math: Posting + Guilt Completion. That seems to be a valid equation as far as I'm concerned. Maybe I need a self-help seminar… or just a good swift kick in the butt?**

…………………………

**South by Southeast**

**Gurdon, Arkansas**

Kyle Truman threw the pick-up into park and cut the engine, the silence from the surrounding ruins suddenly engulfing them in its embrace. He leaned back casually against the seat, his right arm extended against the top of the cool vinyl of the truck's bench. His hand filtered through the silky strands of his companion's long blonde hair.

"Kyle," Shelly cautioned, her apprehension apparent in her voice. "What are you doing?" She shifted her head away from his hand and glanced around into the darkness of the abandoned yard.

Kyle's eyes flashed momentarily at the brush off, quickly masking his anger with a roguish grin, his eyebrows dancing as he responded. "You said you wanted to go somewhere quiet to talk, Shel." He motioned with his other hand to the eerie darkness outside of the truck. "This is pretty quiet."

"I know," Shelly continued to look around, folding her arms tightly around her and hunching her shoulders up toward her neck. "It's just this place…" She shuddered. The abandoned train yard had always creeped her out – even in the daytime when she had played there as a kid. It had always just felt so… dead.

The building that had once held the train depot offices was nothing more than a pile of rotted wood and stone, and the maze of tracks that ran through the yard were in dire need of repair, with most of the ties rotted or missing and the metal tracks rusted and all but collapsed. The weeds had taken over most of the yard and the small swamp to the south was threatening to drown the entire area. A few good rains, and the entire yard could end up under water from the nearby lake.

Of course all the local ghost stories didn't help. Shelly could remember her older brother taunting her with all the legends about ghosts and mysterious lights. The stories had become quite the urban legend around the county, drawing hundreds of people around Halloween every year.

"Oh come on, Shel," Kyle couldn't stop his snort of laughter. "You don't actually believe all those stupid stories about ghost lights and this place being haunted, do you?" Kyle shook his head and continued to laugh. "It's all just local mumbo jumbo for the tourists!"

"I know," Shelly snapped, her anger at being laughed at tempered by the very real feelings of apprehension she felt about the rail yard. "It's just… this place. It creeps me out."

Kyle leaned toward her, his eyebrows rising suggestively as his hand gripped her shoulder. "Don't worry, baby. I'll protect you." He forced himself forward, pulling her toward him.

Shelly wedged her arm between them and pushed him back. "Get off me, Kyle!" Her face scrunched up in distaste when she smelled the alcohol on his breath. "You've been drinking!"

"Come on, Shel –"

"No!"

She quickly grabbed the handle and opened the door, jumping out and slamming it shut before he could grab her.

Kyle slammed his hand on the steering wheel as he watched her run from the truck, her small form quickly enveloped by the darkness.

"Fine!" he screamed through the open window. "Walk home! You're nothing but a frickin' tease anyway!"

He slammed his hands into the wheel a few more times before sitting back in the seat and wiping a hand down his face. "Stupid bitch." He reached across to the glove compartment and retrieved a silver flask. Twisting the top, he took a long pull of the whiskey and closed his eyes, relishing the burn as the alcohol slid down his throat into his stomach.

When the flask was empty, he tossed it onto the seat and sat back, allowing the booze to drown his anger. He didn't notice the fog as it swirled around the truck, thickening to blanket the vehicle in a gray shroud. He didn't feel the truck as it slowly moved forward, coming to a stop directly across the dilapidated tracks.

The first sign of something wrong came when a loud whistle pierced the silence. Kyle quickly scrambled up, his face turning toward the left as the bright white light of the oncoming train filled the cab.

Kyle pulled on the door handle, but it would not budge. The light became brighter, the sounds of the train echoing in his ears, the pounding of the train reverberating in his chest.

Huddle against the door of the truck, Kyle watched as the light bore down on him and did the only reasonable thing he could do. He screamed.

…………………………………………………………..

**Route 5, Southern Missouri**

The black Chevy barreled down the two lane highway, barely contained within the speed limit, the sounds of Nazareth's Hair of the Dog, blasting from the open windows.

Sam Winchester watched in awe as his brother shoved another handful of brightly colored candy into his already full mouth.

"Mmmmmm, these jelly beans are awesome!" Dean slurred around the confection as he chewed in unabashed joy.

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe you're eating jelly beans for breakfast."

Dean threw him a reproachful look. "Hey, they're fruit flavors," he offered in defense.

"For what you paid for that little bag, we could've bought a real breakfast – for the both of us." Sam shook his head as his brother swallowed and shoved another handful into his mouth." "I'm surprised you didn't just get the coffee flavored ones and save yourself some time."

"Dude, that's just gross." Dean's expression turned to one of disgust. "Coffee belongs in a cup, not in a jelly bean."

"You've got some really weird priorities, man." Sam didn't really believe that. After all, his brother had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that his priorities were in fact very specific. Protecting Sam, killing demons, hunting evil, saving everybody else. Last but not least on that very short list, was Dean's own well-being. Despite Dean's bravado and devil may care attitude, Sam had finally realized that his brother was one of the most selfless human beings he had ever known. And it was that selflessness that made the situation they faced all that much more ironic.

Dean was going to hell.

Because he put Sam first.

If only other people had such screwed up priorities… the world would be a much better place.

Dean just shrugged. "Tell me about it, dude." He motioned to the papers lying on Sam's lap. "So, talk to me. What's our new case?"

Sam took a deep breath and grabbed the papers. "One word: decapitation."

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave his brother a grin. "No shit?"

"No shit," Sam returned the grin.

It was enough to make Dean forget about the jelly beans lying in his lap. "Vampires?" Their recent encounter with Gordon Walker was still fresh in their minds and neither brother was keen on facing any new vampires anytime soon. Dean absently rubbed at his neck. The puncture wounds from his close encounter with Gordon's vamped out self were physically almost completely healed, but the fuzzy memory of having the ex-hunter's teeth sink into the flesh of his neck still gave him the willies.

Sam cleared his throat causing Dean to shift his eyes momentarily to his brother. They hadn't really discussed what happened with Gordon, and Dean was pretty sure Sam was torn between guilt and relief, but he wasn't about to push the younger man. If Sam wanted to talk about it, he would let Dean know. Until then, Dean was okay with trying to pretend it never even happened.

"Don't think so. Kyle Truman," Sam read from the printout. "22 year old college student, found dead in his pick-up at an old railway yard. The doors were locked from the inside and there was no sign of tampering."

"Then how did he lose his head?"

Sam shrugged. "That's the 'our-kind-of-weird' part. There was no blood in the truck. The cops think he was killed somewhere else and placed in the truck to look like some freaky kind of death."

"But you don't." Dean's inquiry was more of a statement than a question.

"I checked back and found three other incidents along the same stretch of abandoned tracks within the last 50 years. All males in their 20's, all missing their heads."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, assimilating the information. "Were the heads ever found?"

Sam flipped through the printouts quickly and shook his head. "Not that I could find."

"Huh." Dean rolled the plastic candy bag and tossed it onto the seat next to him. "So we're after something that takes heads without making a mess. I do so love a neat and tidy killer. Maybe we're after Martha Stewart."

Sam snorted in amusement. "As creepy as she may be, I doubt it. According to the reports, Kyle was at the railyard with his girlfriend – a Shelly Donahue. They apparently had a fight and she took off on foot. "

"She see anything?"

"Not according to the police report, but it wouldn't hurt to talk to her."

Dean nodded his agreement. "Okay. Next stop, Sleepy Hollow."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Hmmm… what's a gal gotta do to get some feedback here? Good thing I have thick skin or else I'd get a complex. g It's okay – I know y'all are reading and coming back for more, so I'm happy.**

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**Chapter 2**

**Gurdon, Arkansas**

Shelly Donahue shifted nervously on her living room couch, her eyes casting from the hands folded tightly in her lap to the two very handsome detectives seated opposite her. Despite the fact that their looks were extremely distracting, she was still apprehensive about their unexpected visit.

"I don't understand," Shelly said with a bit of trepidation. "I told the other cops everything I remembered." Her blue eyes danced between Sam and Dean, her hands wringing together on her lap. "Am I in some kind of trouble?"

Sam held up a hand in an attempt to quell her obvious fear. "No, no. I assure you, Ms. Donahue, we're only checking facts." He exchanged a quick look with his brother then pasted on his best 'professional' face. "So you said you got into a fight with Kyle right before you left?"

Shelly nodded slowly. "Well, yeah. I wanted to talk with him – you see, Kyle and I… well…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to him someplace quiet so that I could break up with him. I didn't want to make a scene."

Dean's eyebrows shot up at the young woman's sudden honesty. "Did Kyle know that?"

Shelly gave a sardonic laugh. "No. Kyle kind of thought he was irresistible. You know the type."

Sam returned her smile, his eyes shifting momentarily to his brother. "Yeah, I do."

"Kyle was a creep." All three heads turned toward the kitchen doorway as Shelly's roommate entered. The short haired, slightly plump brunette made her way to the couch and sat down next to her friend. "I don't mean to speak ill of the dead or anything, but Kyle treated Shelly like crap. If you ask me, he got what he deserved."

"You think he deserved to get decapitated?"

The roommate blanched a bit at Dean's blunt question. "Well, no," she backtracked a bit. "All I meant was that he was a real jerk who treated people like commodities." She turned and faced her roommate, placing her hands over her friend's. "I'm sorry he's dead, but I'm not sorry he's gone."

Sam shifted uncomfortably at the sudden tension in the room. "Okay," he breathed, trying to get the conversation back on track. "So, after you broke up with him, how did he react?"

"He didn't," Shelly answered. "I mean, I didn't exactly break up with him."

"Changed your mind?" Dean asked with feigned patience. This Q&A stuff, while necessary, was never one of his favorite parts of a job.

"He started acting like a jerk and I was already on edge because of that place –"

"The railyard?" Sam clarified.

"Yeah. I just couldn't deal, ya know? So I jumped out of the truck and ran home."

Sam nodded, pretending to make notations in his small notebook. "And Kyle was still okay when you left."

Shelly nodded. "He was drunk, but that wasn't really anything new. But I guess that explains why he would've been dumb enough to take me out there, knowing how I feel about the place."

Dean nodded. "Not a fan of the old railyard, huh?"

Shelly visibly shivered. "Are you kidding? It's the creepiest place I know. When I was little, my brother taunted me with all those stupid ghost stories about the place. He even dragged me up there once at night. I swear it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up."

"Ghost stories?" Dean leaned forward as he asked the question, hopeful that they were finally getting somewhere.

"Yeah," the roommate piped up. "It's a local legend about some young rail worker who got hit by a train in a really bad fog. The story says he was hit by the train and torn into pieces. They never found his head and he comes back every year trying to find it." She gave a shudder. "To have Kyle die like that…. pretty weird."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. _Pretty weird alright_.

They both stood and Sam gave the two girls a tight smile. "Thank you. I think that's all we need."

……………………………………

**Best Value Inn, Gurdon, Arkansas**

As soon as they entered the motel room, Dean tossed the tie on the table and the suit coat on the back of the chair pushed half way under the desk. Pulling his shirt from the waist of his black slacks, he sat on the edge of the bed and began to undo the buttons on the cuffs.

"So, you think there's anything to the headless rail worker story?"

Sam didn't bother to undress. Instead he opted to boot up the laptop, loosen his tie and plant himself into the chair beside the table. "I don't know," he turned to his brother as the computer booted up, throwing one arm across the back of the chair. "We've started with less. You gonna hit the shower?"

"Yeah," Dean pulled off the dress shirt and tossed it over the suit coast. "These clothes make me feel all itchy." He shimmied in an exaggerated shudder, making a rumbling sound with his lips for emphasis.

Sam smiled and shook his head. "I think that's all probably psychosomatic, Dean."

Dean frowned at the term. "Psycho this, Sigmund."

Sam ignored his brother's rude gesture, turning to the laptop and logging on as the older hunter disappeared into the motel room's tiny bathroom.

Emerging ten minutes later, rubbing at his hair with one towel while another was tucked around his waist, Dean tossed his dress slacks on the bed and reached into his duffle for some more comfortable clothes. He noticed Sam leaning on the table-top, his nose barely inches away from the computer screen. "That can't be good for your eyes, dude."

Sam just shrugged, not bothering to look away from whatever had caught his attention.

"Find something?"

"Maybe," Sam responded. He sat back in the chair, making room for his brother as Dean leaned in behind him. "I found this old newspaper report about a railworker named Thomas Carlisle sometime around the Great Depression. Shelly's roommate was pretty close to the mark. Apparently, there was a dense fog and this Carlisle was told to go shine a lantern near the tracks at the entrance to the yard as a signal for the trains to slow down. He got too close, the train hit him, end of story." Sam drew his hand across his neck as Dean sat down on the corner of the bed behind him. Turning to his brother, he shrugged. "The next day, they went looking for him. Found the lantern and his body… well, most of it anyway."

"Let me guess," Dean's eyebrows rose. "Sans head?"

"Yep."

"Okay, so it fits," Dean said in a doubtful voice. "But there are legends like that all over the country, man. I mean there are the Booey Lights in North Carolina, Marfa Lights in Texas… all the same story. Some poor decapitated railway worker coming back to find his missing head.

Sam nodded, acknowledging his brother's words. "That's all true," he admitted. "But, those legends had to all come from somewhere, right?"

"Maybe."

"The question is, if this Carlisle dude does have something to do with what happened to Kyle Truman, how do we find him? I couldn't find anything about where he was buried – or if he even was buried. And, if we can't find his grave, how do we stop him?"

Dean pursed his lips in thought. "Find his head."

Sam snorted, his expression telegraphing his thought on that solution. "Right. Like it's just gonna be lying out there under a bush for the last eighty years, Dean."

Dean just gave him a cheeky smile and snapped the towel in his brother's direction. "Never said it was gonna be easy, Sammy. That's why we get the big bucks."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Abandoned Railyard, Midnight**

A light rain was beginning to seep down as Dean pulled the Impala to a stop at the edge of the railyard. The building that housed the offices was still partially standing, one half caved in due to time and the elements, the other half still precariously upright. The yard itself was overgrown with weeds and wild grasses, almost concealing the remains of the railway that cut through the center of the yard.

Parking the big Chevy between the building and the tracks, the brothers got out, the creaking of the doors the only sound in the eerie silence of the yard.

"I think I agree with the girlfriend," Sam observed. "This place is creepy."

Dean chuckled at his brother's admission but didn't disagree. Carefully walking through the mud, Dean approached the tracks, shifting his body one way then the other to get a good look at the lay of the railyard. The tracks were in a sad state of disrepair, no longer able to function in the capacity they were designed for. The moon reflected off random sections of iron that ran in either direction, showing that some of the actual rails were still there, but for the most part, the tracks were nothing more than rotted ties strewn across a gravel path.

The wind picked up, whispering across the tall grasses on the opposite side of the tracks where there was a small marsh, thin reeds swaying in the shallow waters.

"I don't know, Sam. It's kind of homey once you get used to it."

Sam ignored the cheeky grin he could just make out in the soft moonlight. "Yeah, if you're Ichabod Crane."

Dean's grin widened. "See, I knew you'd get the Sleepy Hollow vibe. I'm thinking the one with Johnny Depp."

Sam shook his head, pulling his collar up in an effort to stop the drizzle from trickling down his back. "What do you say we check out the office for any sign of the headless horseman before this storm lets lose and we end up buried in mud?"

Dean joined his brother at the rear of the Chevy and they pulled two shotguns from the weapons cache in the trunk. Dean loaded his sawed-off with salt rounds, while Sam went with the consecrated iron. Both hunters pocketed extra ammunition before sliding the secret compartment down and closing the trunk.

With a nod to indicate they were each ready, Dean led the way across the grass-strewn mud to what remained of the station. The door was still in tact, and Dean placed a hand on the latch, his eyes shifting to his brother in question. Sam pulled the shotgun to his shoulder, positioning his flashlight directly below the barrel and gave his brother a slight nod. Dean pushed the rotting wood door open, cringing at the loud creak of the rusted hinges. Dropping to a knee, his eyes searched right in the dark interior of the partially collapsed building, knowing his brother covered the left side from above him.

Seeing no immediate threat, Dean slowly rose and stepped through the doorway, his own flashlight held tight against the barrels of the sawed-off. Stepping to the left, he felt Sam enter directly behind him and take a step to the right. At right angles to each other, they scanned the small room as the rain began to increase, falling between the large cracks in the wooden roof.

The far wall had collapsed in on itself, causing the roof to slant downward at a sharp angle. Dean shined the flashlight up at the ceiling, wincing at the way it swayed in the growing wind.

Sam noticed a desk and overturned floor safe on the right side of the room and slowly made his way toward them as his brother began his own inspection of the opposite side of the room. Any papers or information in the desk had been ravaged by the elements and time, but Sam hoped he would have better luck with the safe.

A sudden rumble caught the attention of both men and Sam turned toward his brother in time to see what was left of a heavy bookshelf pitch forward as the wall began to crumble from the vibrations.

"Dean!"

Sam's warning was a split second too late as the bookshelf and part of the wall and ceiling crashed down on top of his brother. Dean had time to throw an arm up to protect his head as the heavy wood fell on him, smashing him to the ground under it's weight.

"Dean!" Sam screamed again and quickly made his way across the rubble to his brother's prone form. "Dean? Can you hear me?" The rumble and vibration disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving no sound except the now pouring rain pounding the ground around the building. "Dean?" Sam frantically pulled the heavy boards off his brother.

Dean was lying face down, one arm above his head, the other lying buried underneath his body. Sam couldn't see if there was any blood in the dim light, but he was pretty sure Dean wasn't going to walk away from this without at least a few painful bruises.

A low moan was accompanied by slight movement and Sam sighed in relief as he lay a comforting hand against his brother's back.

"Whoa, dude," he cautioned. "Take it easy. You just got sacked by half a building, man."

"Felt more like the Dallas defensive line," Dean grumbled. He slowly pulled his arm in, taking a moment to assess himself before rolling to his side. "That hurt."

Sam grinned and nodded, dipping his flashlight in an attempt to get a look at his brother's face.

"Get that damn thing out of my face, Sam!"

Dean reached up and pushed the offending light away, but not before Sam caught a glimpse of red near his brother's right temple.

"You're bleeding."

"Of course I'm bleeding. A building just fell on me." Dean wiped the back of his hand against his temple in an attempt to stop the blood from running into his eye. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, sucking in a deep breath as the world tilted for a moment. Regaining his equilibrium quickly, he glanced up at Sam, a grin lifting the corner of his mouth at the expected expression of concern on his brother's face. "I'm fine, Sam." He held up a hand. "Give me a hand up, will ya?"

Knowing that arguing with his stubborn older sibling was a waste of time, Sam stood and hauled his brother to his feet, holding his arm until he regained his balance. He didn't miss the wince Dean gave when he straightened, but figured it wasn't worth the possible confrontation to try to assess his brother for injuries until they were back at the motel. Dean seemed to be okay, so Sam would wait until they were dry and warm to see if there was any real need for worry.

"Think you can make it back to the car?"

Dean nodded, wincing as his head began to throb at the movement. "Yeah. Any idea what caused that little escapade?"

Sam shrugged. "I heard some kind of rumble, almost sounded like…"

"A freight train?" Dean finished for him.

"Yeah," Sam admitted. "I guess."

Dean picked his way out of the debris and back to the door. "You still need to go through the safe. See if there is anything about Carlisle."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Relax, Sam. I'm just going back to the car. Get something to stop this bleeding." Dean wiped the blood from his eye again and motioned toward the safe. "Just make it quick before the rest of the place decides to go."

Sam nodded and turned his attention to the partially opened safe. He wanted to head back to the Impala so he could keep an eye on Dean, but he knew his brother was right. They needed whatever information they could find, and he didn't relish making another trip out here. Kneeling next to the safe, he gave a cautious look toward the ceiling and began to force the heavy iron door open.

…………………………………

Dean made his way through the rain, ducking into the Impala's passenger door as the wind began to whip the rain sideways. He wasn't thrilled with the prospect of his brother still being inside the old station, with the threat of collapse, but they needed whatever information they could find. And the way his head was throbbing and his vision was graying out around the edges, he knew he'd be more of a hindrance than a help.

Besides, Sam was a big boy – like his little brother continually reminded him. If there was any danger, he trusted Sam to see it and get himself out.

Digging through the glove compartment, he managed to find a clump of napkins from one of their stops at a burger joint and used one to wipe away the flowing blood. Folding a few more into a makeshift bandage, he turned the rearview mirror toward him and squinted through the low glow from the dome light at the two inch vertical slash running from his eyebrow toward his hairline.

"Great," he muttered. Another scar. He'd always known how to use his good looks, and, he had to admit that his face had come in handy on more than one occasion. But, he'd picked up a few scars in the last few years. Most of them weren't obvious, but they were there, and the memories of how they'd been earned was slowly taking its toll.

He'd told Sam he was tired. He was. Tired of fighting day after day, never knowing if they were doing enough. He wanted to make a difference, but lately, he felt as if he was barely treading water, let alone making any kind of headway toward the shore.

He'd tried to keep up a brave front for Sam, but his little brother had obviously seen the cracks in Dean's façade. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his game face on, and sometimes, like with Gordon, it just seemed easier to go out, guns blazing, in order to give Sam the chance to move on.

But his brother had a different outlook on the situation. If had taken him a while to accept, but it was obvious that Sam was as desperate to save Dean as Dean was to let Sam go. They had fallen into an impasse. Neither knowing how to breach the span, and neither quite wanting to give in.

He leaned his head back against the cool leather of the seat and sighed. Sometimes life just really sucked.

Blocking out the pain in his head, Dean allowed his body to relax into the familiar leather. As the Impala wrapped his sore, chilled body in warmth, his mind began to drift. He didn't notice the fog as it began to drift across the windshield of the black Chevy. He didn't feel the motion as the car crept forward as if pushed until it was lying directly across the dilapidated tracks. As the pounding in his head forced him into the dark, the light broke through the mist bearing down on its unsuspecting victim.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sam made quick work of the safe door, pulling it open with a groan as the rusted hinges finally gave way. Inside were scattered papers, yellowed with age, but still legible. A quick scan showed them to be nothing more than rail schedules left behind when the station was closed more than thirty years ago.

Back against the far wall of the safe, Sam's light flashed against what looked like a worn leather bound book. Reaching into the iron safe, Sam grabbed the book, pulling it out and carefully untying the string holding it closed.

Bingo!

It appeared to be a journal of the station master. Sam quickly paged back to the beginning, noting the date; September, 1927. Hopefully there was something inside about the accident.

A groan from the wooden structure made Sam look around him nervously. Not trusting the building to stay upright against the rain and wind, he shoved the journal into his coat and gathering his shotgun and flashlight, quickly made his way back to the doorway.

He stopped abruptly as he noticed the thick fog that had settled over the area. Squinting in the direction they had left the car, Sam tried to make out the outline of the big black car, but couldn't see anything through the swirling mist.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

Hands in front of him, Sam cautiously made his way through the now think mud pacing off the steps to the car. A shrill whistle pierced the air, making him jump. His eyes were drawn to a faint light cutting through the fog in the distance. Sam could feel a slight vibration… as if a train was bearing down on the station.

With the aid of the light, he was able to make out the faint outline of the Impala, at least twenty yards from where they had originally parked. He quickly crossed the distance, wondering why Dean would move the car, especially through this sludge that was quickly beginning to become hazardous.

Coming up to the passenger side of the car, Sam could see his brother, his head leaned back against the seat, his eyes closed. Pulling on the door handle, Sam was surprised to find the door locked. He glanced up, noting the light was closer and taking the shape of a small circle growing as it raced toward them.

Sam pounded on the window. "Dean! Dean, wake up!" There was no response. His brother remained motionless.

Another shrill whistle cut the silence, this time much closer. Sam could make out the unmistakable sounds of a train, barreling down the tracks, the whistle announcing it's eminent arrival at the station.

Shit!

Slipping in the mud, Sam made his way to the driver's side of the Impala and tried the other door to no avail. The light was bright enough to illuminate the entire area and he searched the muddy ground, his eyes finally finding a small rock, Grabbing the stone, Sam hefted it in his hand, testing it's weight. Another whistle split the air and Sam gave a silent apology to his brother before covering his eyes and smashing the stone into the Impala's window.

The shattering of the glass was drowned in the rush of the oncoming train. Sam quickly leaned in, throwing the car into neutral and slithered around to the front of the vehicle. With every ounce of strength he possessed, the young hunter pushed against the heavy car. Aided by the slight downhill slope, the big Chevy slowly rolled backwards. Sam grunted as he turned, trying to find a purchase for his feet and he pushed with all his might.

Suddenly, the car rolled free of the tracks, causing Sam to loose his balance and drop into the thick mud. With a quick glance at the now blinding light that completely filled his vision, he pushed himself to his feet and dove from the tracks, feeling the tug of the train pull at his clothing as it sped by.

And just like that, it was gone.

The fog disappeared, and the silence returned to the old railyard.

Taking a moment to get his breathing and heart rate under control, Sam craned his neck to look down the dilapidated tracks, his eyes wide as he found no evidence of the train that had nearly flattened them.

"Dean!"

Clambering to his feet, Sam made his way to the Impala and pulled at the handle of the passenger door, surprised when it opened as normal.

"Dean!" He shook his brother, breathing a sigh of relief when the familiar green eyes fluttered open. Dean frowned at his brother as Sam dropped to a crouch outside the door, his hand on the older man's knee, his head leaning against his arm. "Welcome back, man."

Dean shook his head, wincing as the ache there flared. "Where'd I go?" He raised a hand to the gash on his temple, his eyes watching his brother with slight confusion.

Sam lifted his head and graced his brother with a relieved smile. "I have no idea, dude. You were completely unconscious."

"That sucks."

"Tell me about it," Sam agreed, swallowing hard. "Are you okay?"

Dean sat up, wincing at the bruises he could feel along his shoulder and back. "Think so." He twisted his neck slowly from side to side, a frown appearing on his face as he noticed the glass strewn across the front seat. "Sam, why is there glass in my car?" His eyes slowly rose to the remains of the window on the driver's side and he blinked a few times, trying to ascertain what he was seeing. "Where's my window? What the hell did you do? You hurt my car!" He held up a few shards of glass to his brother accusingly.

Sam simply shrugged, ignoring Dean's indignation. "I think the speeding ghost train was gonna hurt it – and you – a little more."

"I can't believe you broke –" Dean stopped as his brother's words sunk in. "Wait. Did you say 'ghost train'?"

Sam just nodded. "I'm thinking that's probably what killed Kyle Truman."

"I thought we were looking for a spirit who lost his head."

"Apparently, our spirit is a little more pissed off than we thought."

"Terrific," Dean growled. He placed the napkin bandage back against his head. "I can't believe you hurt my car."

Sam chuckled and shook his head fondly. "Like I said, dude. You have extremely screwed up priorities."

………………………………………………

**Best Value Inn**

By the time they made it back to the motel, Dean had forgiven his brother for busting out the window, although he continued to grouse about it even as they pulled into the motel parking lot.

"Look," Sam pulled the Impala into the space in font of their door and cut the engine. "I'll get some plastic and tape it up for the night. Then I'll get the window replaced tomorrow, okay?"

"Fine." Dean pulled himself from the car, leaning against the top in an attempt to hide his dizziness from his brother. "Just be careful not to get any of the duct tape on the paint job, dude, or else –"

"I know, I know. You'll kick my ass." Sam slammed the driver's door, cringing at the tinkling of broken glass as it shook free from the broken window. "Can we focuse on the real problem right now?"

Dean glared at him for a moment before turning and striding toward the room. Once inside, he went straight for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Sam, sighed and followed his brother into the room. He heard the shower turn on and rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. He knew that Dean wasn't really angry with him – well, of course he was angry, he tended to overreact whenever something happened to his precious car – but he wasn't really angry with Sam.

Despite the image he presented, Dean wasn't stupid, nor was he as self absorbed as he allowed people to believe he was. Dean understood that sometimes things happened that were beyond their control and one of them – or the Impala – might pay the price. He was upset that it had to be the car, but he'd get over it. At least they were all in one piece.

Sam grabbed the plastic trash bag from the garbage can under the desk and rummaged through the weapons bag until he came up with a half used roll of duct tape. Within minutes, he had the bag taped into place over the broken window, effectively forming a barrier against the rain. It wouldn't stop anyone from breaking into the car, but there was only so much they could do at two o'clock in the morning.

A few minutes after Sam returned to the room, he heard the shower cut off. Tossing his jacket across the foot of a bed, he rummaged through the pocket, extricating the journal he had found inside the safe. Making himself comfortable against the headboard, he began to rifle through the old, yellowed pages. The bathroom door opened, and Dean emerged, drops of water glistening against his skin, a thin motel towel wrapped around his hips.

"Holy crayola, Batman," Sam commented as he glanced up, his eyes catching the colorful array of bruises already beginning to appear along his brothers torso. "That's gotta hurt."

"You're freakin' hilarious."

"That's gotta hurt."

Dean shrugged as he pulled on a clean pair of jeans and carefully lowered himself to the other bed. "Not as much as seeing my baby's window smashed." Dean turned his head on the pillow. "You did take care of her, right?"

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Unless there's a hurricane, I think she'll be okay."

Satisfied, Dean nodded, his eyes squinting as he noticed the old journal in his brother's hands. "New Nancy Drew novel, Samantha?"

"I found it in the safe inside the station. It's a journal written by the station master, goes back a pretty long way."

Dean turned his head and relaxed against the pillow. "Anything about our ghost?"

"Not much," Sam answered as his eyes traveled quickly across the pages. "It seems our friend Carlisle wasn't the only person to go missing that night." He turned a few pages before continuing. "According to this, the engineer of the train that apparently hit Carlisle in the fog disappeared that night, too. "

Dean responded without bothering to open his eyes. "Maybe the poor guy panicked and ran. Figured he'd be blamed for Carlisle's death or something."

"Maybe," Sam agreed. "But…"

"But what?"

"I don't know," Sam reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "Something's just not making sense."

Dean pushed himself up against the backboard, mirroring his brother's position. "We're dealing with vengeful spirits of a guy who was decapitated by a train, Sam. What could possibly not make sense?"

Ignoring his brother's sarcasm, Sam shook his head. "Think about it Dean. They found a body the next morning, right? Back then there was no fingerprint database, no DNA tests. The only way they could positively identify a body was to have the head."

"Which they never found." Dean followed along. "So you're saying the body they found might not have even been Carlisle? It could have been the engineer?"

Sam shrugged. "The ghost train would make more sense."

Dean pursed his lips and dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Maybe. But we got no proof that this engineer guy even died, Sam. No way of knowing who he even was."

Sam turned to the first page of the journal. "Then I guess we'll just have to start at he beginning."

Dean moaned and slid down until he was prone on the mattress. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes, burrowing into the pillow. "Have at it, geek boy. Wake me when you get to the good part."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The marching band inside his skull decided to up the volume and Dean groaned in protest as he rolled to his side on the bed. Forcing his eyes to open slightly, he winced at the light from the bedside lamp and the noise from the storm outside filtering through the walls of the motel room, groaning again as the movement awakened the throbbing in his sore neck and back.

"Morning."

Dean rubbed a hand down his face before moving his head up, taking in the view of his brother, perched against the headboard of the opposite bed. Sam was leaning against two pillows, his legs crossed before him, his laptop open and perched on top. He smirked at his brother as Dean stifled another groan.

"Hmmm," he answered noncommittally. "Dude, did you stay up all night?"

"Nah," Sam shook his head, his eyes grazing over his brother's still supine form. "I got a few hours."

From the dark circles under the younger man's eyes, Dean doubted the claim. "You look like shit."

"Still not getting the whole pot-kettle thing, huh?"

"Bite me, bitch."

Sam chuckled. "Ooh. Always so crabby before your coffee."

Dean ignored the jibe and pushed himself up against the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut as the pounding in his head went up a notch. "So," he cleared his throat, forcing the pain to the background. "You find anything?"

Sam nodded. "Maybe." He clicked a few keys on the laptop. "I might have found a connection between Carlisle and the missing engineer."

"Do tell."

"According to the county records, about a year before the accident, a certificate of marriage was issued to Carlisle and a Madelyn Carson."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard. "So the dude had a girlfriend. So what?"

"The license was issued but never filed," Sam explained. "And get this, about 6 months after that license was issued, another one was issued for the same Madelyn Carson – but this time to Harold Malicki."

Dean frowned. "Who the hell is Harold Malicki?"

"According to the station master's journal. Harold is our missing engineer."

"Oh." Dean let the information roll around his brain for a few moments then turned to his brother. "So you think sweet little Madelyn gets engaged to our boy Carlisle, then has a change of heart, and switches to Team Harry?" Sam nodded and Dean leaned back, continuing the thought. "Then Carlisle goes postal, kills Harry, and chops of his head so that they can't ID the body. Dude, that's brutal."

"Yeah, but it makes sense." Sam moved the laptop and pushed himself to the edge of the bed. "Malicki was the engineer, right?"

"And he's using his train to exact revenge?"

"It fits. He's killing these guys in the same way he was killed."

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay, I can work with that. But if it is Malicki, then what happened to Carlisle?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. He was never seen or heard from again as far as I could find. And I couldn't find any mention of Madelyn after the accident either.

"Huh," Dean shook his head, wincing as the marching band started up again. "People are just plain weird." He looked back across to his brother. "So, we're still back to square one. How do we stop Thomas the Train? We still don't know how to find his head."

Sam sighed in frustration. "I know. I still haven't quite figured that part out."

Dean nodded and pushed himself from the bed, grabbing some fresh clothes as he shuffled slowly toward the bathroom. "To bad we can't just turn this damn rain into holy water. That's really steam his engine."

Sam chuckled as his brother closed the door to the small bathroom and he heard the sound of the shower starting. He crossed to the window and pulled back the tattered curtain, watching as the rain hit the blacktopped parking lot outside the window. As he stared at the thin layer of water covering the lot, an idea began to take hold in his head.

A slow smile spread across his lips as he turned his head toward the closed bathroom door. "Damn, Dean," he whispered. "You just may have something there!"

………………………

"This isn't going to work, Sam."

Sam drove the end of the shovel into the soft mud breathing deeply through his nose as he tried to ignore the rising anger at his brother's comment. "It won't if you don't move your ass and help."

For his part, Dean just shook his head and scooped another shovel full of soft mud from around the bank of the swamp. "We can dig this whole damn railyard out, Sam. But flooding the tracks still isn't going to stop this ghost train.

The brothers had been digging since before nightfall, bridging the short distance between the swampland and the dilapidated railroad tracks. While Sam's initial idea of using the swamp water to flood the tracks had been met with ridicule, it was only after the younger hunter explained that they could then bless the water, making what would conceivably be a Holy water ghost trap that Dean had agreed to give the plan a try.

Of course, just because he had decided to humor his brother, didn't mean he thought it was going to actually do any good. Besides, he was cold, wet, his back was sore, his hands were beginning to blister and he had been trying to ignore the four alarm headache blaring inside his head for most of the day.

"Sammy," he tried to reason. "Even if this does stop the train, holy water is not going to get rid of the spirit… or whatever the hell it is. We're still gonna have to find a way to get rid of Malicki or Carlisle or Snidely Whiplash or whoever it is that's collecting heads around here."

Sam tossed another shovel full of sopping mud, smiling as the water began to puddle around the tracks. "I know that, Dean. I just think that if we can get the train to hit the water, we can eliminate the threat for a while at least. The holy water may not destroy it, but it should be enough to seriously hurt it. At least it'll keep it from harming anyone else until we figure out exactly what we're up against."

Sam raised his eyebrows, silently asking his brother to just go with him on this one. He couldn't explain why he thought this would work – hell nothing in Dad's journal gave any indication that it would – Sam just had a feeling…. And if had learned nothing else over the last two and a half years of hunting, he'd learned to trust his feelings.

"Fine." Dean grabbed his shovel and scooped out another glob of mud. "But I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' when the ghost train hits the water and just makes a big splash."

Sam grinned and renewed his efforts. "It's a deal."

…………………………

**Abandoned Railyard**

It had taken most of the evening to dig out the small rise that separated the water's edge from the raised tracks, but the earlier storm had softened the already crumbling barrier considerably. Dean figured the barrier would have deteriorated sooner than later and nature would have taken its course anyway, they had just helped it along a little. As soon as they had scooped out enough of the mud, the waters own pressure had finished the job, seeping into the dirt and crumbling the rise. The water had slowly covered the tracks, forming a small pond over what had been the far edge of the railyard.

A light rain was once again falling as Sam held a rosary above the water, chanting the Latin incantation to bless the water.

Creating holy water was a ritual they had learned long ago, needing ample supplies to fight the scores of demons and monsters they had come up against in their travels. Dad had always been the one to do the actual incantations, but Sam felt confidant that he would be able to handle the blessing.

It wasn't that Dean doubted his brother. They had blessed jugs of water, never letting their supply in the trunk of the Impala run out. It's just that they had never attempted blessing a body of water quite so large all at once. While Dean was confident in his brother's abilities, he couldn't help but wonder if they had maybe bitten off a little more than they could chew.

"What now, genius?"

Sam shrugged. "We wait."

"That's your plan?" Dean eyed the old Chrysler they had 'borrowed' and pushed onto the tracks before flooding the area. Somehow he didn't think this ghost was going to show if it wasn't properly motivated. He dug a hand into his jean pocket and pulled out a shiny silver quarter. "Heads or tails?"

Sam frowned. "Why?"

"This is your plan, dude. Do you really think the 3:10 to Yuma is gonna pull into the station without bait?"

Sam sighed, knowing his brother was probably right. "Like you said, Dean. It's my plan. Besides, you've already played chicken with this thing once. I don't think you should push your luck."

Dean pursed his lips, but held an arm out to deter his brother from moving toward the old car. "Heads or tails, Sammy?" He stared at his brother, daring him to force the issue. He raised his eyebrows, his expression stating what his brother obviously didn't want to acknowledge.

Sam's eyes flashed angrily as he caught his brother's implication. "Right," he snorted. "I forgot. You're dead already, right? So it's gotta be you that takes all the risks." Sam's glare was met with calm detachment.

"I didn't say that, Sammy. I'm giving you a fair shake here. Heads or tails?"

Sam breathed deeply through his nose, his jaw clenched against his frustration at his brother's obvious disregard for his own life. "Fine," he ground out. "Tails."

Dean grinned and flipped the coin, deftly catching it before turning it onto the back of his other hand. "Looks like heads, little brother." He raised his eyes, smiling at Sam innocently. "Lucky me."

Dean pocketed the coin before Sam could grab for it, his suspicion that his brother wouldn't hesitate to cheat playing on his face. Sam should have seen it coming. There was no way Dean was going to allow him to risk himself. Not after everything he'd sacrificed to make sure Sam would stay alive.

He tapped the back of his hand against his brother's chest. "Hope you got that Latin right, dude."

…………………………….

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_After being called on the matt for leaving another cliffhanger ending on Chapter 5 (thank you, loyal readers, for showing me the error of my ways! g ), I went back and realized I actually broke the chapter wrong. The entire last past was supposed to be the beginning of chapter 6. Good thing you gave me reason to go back and check or I would have been repeating myself!! _

_But, what's done is done. So instead of trying to fix it all, I've simply decided to re-cap the last part here. Trust me, it'll make sense in the end. I'm just so glad ya'll are there to keep me on my toes!!_

………………………

_From chapter 5…_

"_What now, genius?"_

_Sam shrugged. "We wait."_

"_That's your plan?" Dean eyed the old Chrysler they had 'borrowed' and pushed onto the tracks before flooding the area. Somehow he didn't think this ghost was going to show if it wasn't properly motivated. He dug a hand into his jean pocket and pulled out a shiny silver quarter. "Heads or tails?"_

_Sam frowned. "Why?"_

"_This is your plan, dude. Do you really think the 3:10 to Yuma is gonna pull into the station without bait?"_

_Sam sighed, knowing his brother was probably right. "Like you said, Dean. It's my plan. Besides, you've already played chicken with this thing once. I don't think you should push your luck."_

_Dean pursed his lips, but held an arm out to deter his brother from moving toward the old car. "Heads or tails, Sammy?" He stared at his brother, daring him to force the issue. He raised his eyebrows, his expression stating what his brother obviously didn't want to acknowledge._

_Sam's eyes flashed angrily as he caught his brother's implication. "Right," he snorted. "I forgot. You're dead already, right? So it's gotta be you that takes all the risks." Sam's glare was met with calm detachment._

"_I didn't say that, Sammy. I'm giving you a fair shake here. Heads or tails?"_

_Sam breathed deeply through his nose, his jaw clenched against his frustration at his brother's obvious disregard for his own life. "Fine," he ground out. "Tails."_

_Dean grinned and flipped the coin, deftly catching it before turning it onto the back of his other hand. "Looks like heads, little brother." He raised his eyes, smiling at Sam innocently. "Lucky me."_

_Dean pocketed the coin before Sam could grab for it, his suspicion that his brother wouldn't hesitate to cheat playing on his face. Sam should have seen it coming. There was no way Dean was going to allow him to risk himself. Not after everything he'd sacrificed to make sure Sam would stay alive. _

_He tapped the back of his hand against his brother's chest. "Hope you got that Latin right, dude."_

……………………………

**Chapter 6**

**Abandoned Railyard**

Dean yawned and stretched in the cramped quarters of the old Chrysler's front seat. True to his word, Sam had taken the Impala to get the window fixed, returning with the old, shit-brown Chrysler he'd managed to talk the shop owner into loaning them. Although the car was a piece of junk and Dean almost cringed at actually having to drive it, he couldn't help but think it was for the best.

There was no way he wanted to subject his baby to this friggin' train again. The old girl had already been through enough with regards to this hunt. She deserved better.

Sam had half-heartedly argued that the latest victim's truck hadn't even been scratched by the apparition, but Dean had just waved a hand, insisting that they use the old Chrysler and leave the Impala safe and sound tucked away at the auto shop. Sam had simply grinned, knowing that Dean's affection for the classic Chevy was not to be trifled with. It was becoming pretty clear that Sam's fondness for the old car was growing – whether Dean had finally gotten his little brother to see the light by teaching him the ins and outs of car repair, or Sam had some other reason for showing an increase in the well being of the third member of the remaining Winchester family, Dean couldn't be sure. But whatever the reason, Dean was touched to see Sam treating the old girl with the reverence she deserved.

After all, she had saved their lives more than once.

The front passenger side window was rolled down in preparation for a quick escape and if he squinted, he could just make out Sam's hunched form inside the doorway of the rickety old station. He pulled the collar of his jacket closer around his neck, trying to ward off the chill the damp wind blew through the car.

He could tell his brother was squat down against the door frame, just inside the walls enough to protect the book he was thumbing through from the slight drizzle. Dean assumed the book was the old journal they had found in the safe. Sam always had a thirst for knowledge ever since they were kids. It made it great when it was time for research. The kid was in his element with his nose stuck in the pages of a book. Dean hoped Sam would be able to go back to that someday.

After he was gone… Dean could only hope that Sam would be able to get past the loss and find a new purpose for his life. He knew it wouldn't be easy, hell he wasn't naïve enough to believe his brother was just going to torch his body and head back to academia, but he did hope that one day, Sam would be able to have the normal lie he had once craved so much, It was the best Dean could hope for his brother.

Sam looked up as if sensing his brother's eyes on him. Dean doubted the younger man could see him through the dirt and cracks in the Old Chrysler's back windows, but he smiled anyway. He was relieved that Sam hadn't pushed when Dean had insisted on being the one to play bait. Of course he would never tell his little brother how he had cheated. Sam had never figured how Dean managed to win every important coin toss, Someday he would have to tell his brother about the weighted coin that always ended tails up. If you needed heads, you simply flipped it onto your other hand. If you needed tails, you just let it fall to the ground.

Sam had always been the smart one, but Dean had always been the practical one.

Turning back toward the front of the car, Dean listened as the shallow water lapped against the tires. He had complete faith that Sam's latin incantation had worked, blessing the water and creating a holy barrier that would effect the ghost train. And although Sam looked distracted by the journal, Dean was sure his brother was ready to guide him away from danger and was as comfortable as possible knowing that if anything went wrong, his life was in the younger hunter's capable hands.

What little there was left of his life anyway.

As much as he tried to ignore the ticking time bomb hanging over his head, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that he wasn't afraid of what was coming. It wasn't death he feared so much as the unkown void he faced at the hands of whatever held the deed to his soul. Sam had told him that the Crossroads Demon had said something else held that contract and wanted Dean's soul too much to just let it go.

While it was nice to be wanted, this was one time that Dean was more than willing to let someone else be the life of the party… as long as that someone wasn't Sam.

A slight vibration shook the car and Dean sat up, his eyes squinting into the darkness. A mist had begun to develop, ghosting around the old sedan like a shroud. He knew it would soon become too thick for either of them to see anything clearly, but the sound of Sam's voice would be enough to anchor him and give him enough of an idea of which way to move to avoid losing his head – seeing as how he'd become quite attached to it over the years.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice floated through the mist, a mixture of concern and apprehension. Dean latched on to it, noting where it came from even though the mist had thickened, effectively playing havoc with his normally infallible sense of direction.

"Yo," he responded in a low voice. "I can feel it. It's coming." A distant whistle punctuated the statement, drawing his attention to the left. He could just make out the light of the oncoming train as it sped down the non-existent tracks, the chug of its pistons echoing in the moist night air.

"Bait's taken, Dean. Get out of there."

"Not yet, Sammy. We need to make sure."

"Damnit, Dean. That wasn't the deal." Fortunately the sounds of movement stopped, Sam's anchoring voice no closer than the last time he spoke. Dean sighed, relieved that his brother still had his head in the game. Sam's concern over Dean's new degree of recklessness was starting to get the best of the younger man, but his trust in his brother was still strong enough to outweigh his concern at the fast approaching situation. Hopefully, Sam's sense of self-preservation was still in play, too.

Hell, one of them needed to have one.

Dean held his breath as the sounds of the rushing train grew loud in the confined space of the Chrysler's interior. He could feel his heart beating heavily against his ribs and wondered – not for the first time – if the high he got from the adrenaline rush he felt was what actually made him capable of doing this job.

He felt fear, but it was usually accompanied by a sense of extreme excitement that sports or 'normal' situation just couldn't match. He knew Sam felt it, too, although the younger man was able to hide it much more effectively. Dean was pretty sure that kind of surreal thrill wasn't a normal reaction to finding yourself in a life-threatening situation, but there it was.

Someone had once told him that looking fear in the eye and standing your ground was what made a hero. Right now, despite the high he was experiencing from the hunt, Dean was pretty sure it was what made a dead man.

He still had a few months before he was ready to face that particular mirror.

"Dean! Move it, now!"

The light from the train was speeding toward him and began to glow brightly inside the car. Giving in to his brother's insistance, Dean moved to the right and began to pull himself out of the open passenger window. Splashing down into the shallow water surrounding the tracks, Dean squinted into the mist, the swirling fog disorienting him as the bright white light barreled down.

"Sam?"

"Dean! This way!"

Orienting on the sound of his brother's voice, Dean pushed away from the car, only to find himself pulled back suddenly by tug on his rain soaked jacket.

"Sam!" He cringed at the slight sound of panic in his voice as he whipped his head around in an attempt to see whatever was anchoring him to the car. "Sam! I'm stuck on something!"

"Dean, hold on!"

Dean could hear the splash of his brother's hurried steps as he breached the water and headed toward the car. Dean fumbled with the zipper of his jacket, trying to pry it loose enough so that he could wriggle his way out of the garment, hoping that whatever it was holding him to the car would keep the jacket but let him slip away.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was barely discernable over the thundering sound of the locomotive as it approached the railyard. Chancing a glance behind him, Dean's eyes narrowed as the glare of the headlight filled his vision, the train closing the distance at an alarming speed. The shrill sound of the whistle was deafening as it announced the arrival of the ghost train, and he doubled his attempts at undoing the resistant zipper.

Feeling the fastener finally give, Dean yanked it down and yanked his arms from the sleeves just as he felt an unexpected tug on the front of his shirt. Falling forward, he felt a pair of familiar, strong arms grab him around the waist and pull him upright. Grabbing onto Sam, Dean dove away from the car just as the train pulled into the yard.

As the huge locomotive hit the blessed water, a curtain of water shot straight up into the air, hissing as it hit the engine as if it was the actual heated metal it had once been made of. The liquid cascaded back to the ground, blanketing the engine from the front grill to the smoke stacks at the back. The resulting sizzle of steam as the water heated upon contact, filled the air like a scream as the train was engulfed in a shower of water, the blessing working against the supernatural element of its existence.

The two hunters huddled against the damp ground, covering themselves as best they could, waiting for some kind of explosion as the train and water collided in a frenzied dance. As the water splashed back to the ground, the night grew silent and they both dared to look back toward the tracks.

The Chrysler still stood, in tact, straddling the dilapidated tracks. The water had receded, most of it either splashed far from the tracks or evaporated into mist after its contact with the superheated form of the train. Steam rose from the puddles of water still remaining, the moon breaking through the clouds and reflecting off the still sizzling pools.

"Did it work?" Sam's voice broke the eerie silence.

Dean shrugged. The train was gone… for now. But had they solved the problem? It was obvious the holy water coming into contact with the ghost train had stopped it for the time being, but would it really stop Malicki or Carlisle or whoever the hell they were dealing with from killing again?

Dean doubted it, Winchester luck being what it was. Tonight they had merely slapped a band-aid on the situation. They still had no idea who they were looking for or where the hell the missing head was. Sam had been pretty sure that the holy water would take care of the train, but neither of them were convinced it would stop the actual spirit of whichever man they were hunting. It would be nice if the solution would present itself for once, but they would probably need another cursed rabbit's foot for that and Dean just didn't want to go there again.

No. They still needed to figure out exactly whose spirit they were dealing with and put it to rest. They still had to find the damn head. Meaning they were right back to square one.

"Dean." Sam slapped his arm and jutted his chin toward the area that had previously been under water next to the railyard. "Is that what I think it is?"

Dean followed his brother's gaze toward the previously flooded area of the marsh. The moonlight illuminated the area enough to discern a smooth white object at the far edge of the marshland, jutting up from the now exposed mud.

Dean blinked. "Huh." He raised his brows in surprise and leaned away, exchanging a look of complete bewilderment with his brother. "Sammy, did you pick up any cursed objects when I wasn't looking?"

Sam made a show of patting down the pockets of his jacket. His eyebrows disappeared under a fringe of damp bangs, his lips folded into an exaggerated frown as he shook his head and shrugged. "Not that I know of. "

The two men pushed themselves up from the muck and carefully made their way through the squishy earth to the object. Digging around the edge of the object, Dean could just make out one eye socket and the beginning of a sinus cavity of the skull. He leaned back on his heels, his mud-encrusted hands dangling loosely as he rested his forearms on his thighs.

Sam hunkered down next to him and scraped some more of the mud back, working the slimy skull from its murky prison. He stared at it for a few seconds before turning it around to face his brother. Not knowing exactly what to say, he settled for grinning widely as he raised a hand in universal gesture that said 'ta da'!

"Well, I'll be damned," Dean grinned, his eyes flicking from the skull to his brother's Vanna White pose and back. "Looks like things are still turning up heads."

He was pretty sure the Gas Mart near the motel sold Lotto tickets.

The End

………………

_Whew! I'm tired now. Just want to thank you all for sticking with me (especially through my confusion of breaking out chapters!!). Your encouragement has meant the world. And, since this kind of flowed like an episode, I'll add a verbal trailer for what lies ahead….just in case anyone is interested…._

Coming soon:

**Dark Angel** – An enchanting black statue stands sentinel at the gates of a cemetery in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Is its beauty a comfort to the grieving, or could there be something more sinister behind the angelic wings?

_And, no, this is not a crossover fic and has absolutely nothing to do with transgenics or anything futuristic. The title was just too good to pass up._


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